No Malicious Haunting
by hobgoblinn
Summary: Sequel to Lost Boys. When Snape and David visit the Potters for the holidays, they find that the past is neither forgiven nor forgotten. FRT, genfic.
1. Chapter 1

No Malicious Haunting 1/?

_Summary: Sequel to __Lost Boys__. When Snape and David visit the Potters for the holidays, they find that the past is neither forgiven nor forgotten. FRT, genfic._

FEEDBACK: Oh yes. Concrit especially welcome.

_DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and noprofit is being made. Please sue somebody else._

_A/N: Special thanks to research-girl and sahiya for beta work on this, many ages ago before we started to tackle In Loco Parentis together instead. I made some corrections they suggested at the time, but any good advice of theirs I did not follow is my own responsibility. I decided not to ask betina and whitehound for new input mostly because I really wanted to start posting this by Christmas as originally promised (the days have really gotten away from me, what with preparations and house hunting with my Beloved the past couple of days.) They get first shot at future installments, but if anyone else would like to offer beta help on this, let me know. _

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David woke to find a familiar dour presence hovering next to his bed. He raised his head and looked blankly at it for a moment, then the corner of his lip quirked upwards. "I've overslept again, haven't I?" he asked rhetorically, flopping back on his pillows.

"One might say that," the figure replied acerbically. "Have you forgotten what day it is, Mister Dursley?"

David grinned and raised himself up on his elbow. "The Hogwarts Express leaves right after breakfast, doesn't it?"

"I'm sure I have no idea. But _breakfast_ ends in a half hour."

The ghost was affecting an air of indifference, but David knew him well enough by now to read the tension in his stance. His friend might be dead, but that did not stop him being very nervous. David smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. "This will be a brilliant holiday, Professor. You'll see."

The ghost was examining the clutter piled on the trunk at the foot of David's bed with a disapproving frown. "Assuming you manage to be packed and ready to go in time," he replied pointedly.

David rose and headed for the shower. Returning, he found the ghost floating a few inches above his bed, leaning back against its headboard, flipping idly through a Quidditch magazine Uncle Ron had given him while he'd been ill. The ghost paused in the act of turning a page to look a little embarrassed. "You really have nothing worthwhile to read in here, do you know that?"

They were alone in the room. David's dorm mates had already headed down to breakfast. They had been letting him sleep late, these past couple of weeks, having been instructed to do so by Professor Wattlebain as well as Madam Weasley. It was a little humiliating, but he really did need more sleep these days, and he was grateful for it. He pulled a t shirt over his head and asked, "Are you sure you're going to be okay on the train meeting my friends?"

The ghostly Potion Master's expression was dubious, but he replied, "I am sure I shall be fine. And I must admit a certain curiosity about the spawn your idiot uncle has produced. Not to mention my godson Draco."

David grimaced. "I've never understood Al's fondness for that conceited little git," he admitted. "But nobody can deny that Scorpius sticks by his friends. And it's fun to watch him needle James." He finished dressing, then packed his possessions with a flick of his wand, just like Rose had showed him. The interior of his trunk was a mess, unlike her neatly ordered one when she'd shown him, but David didn't care. Turning back to the ghost he said, "You want to come down with me?"

The ghost sniffed. "Not in the least. One of the many perks of being dead is no longer being forced to endure the clamor of the Great Hall on the last morning before end of term."

"All right. I'll meet you on the platform, then."

The ghost inclined his head and disappeared, and David bounded out the door and down to the Great Hall, hoping someone would have saved him at least a bit of toast.

* * *

Snape chose to rematerialize just inside the front doors of the castle. He took care to remain invisible, listening to the laughter and chatter of students passing in and out, making final preparations to leave school for the holidays. He could have easily passed right through the heavy oaken doors, but he chose instead to nip through with a particularly dull-looking boy wearing the colors of his own house, and he smiled briefly at the confused shudder he caused. Then he turned his eyes to the grounds, covered as they were in a blanket of deep snow.

It was so bright. Everything was. Overwhelming. After so long in the dark, surrounded by deep walls of stone, the wide blue sky would have snatched his breath from his lips, had he still been a living man. As it was it took all his courage to step forward into the open space, to fall into step with the students trudging down to Hogsmeade Station, or to the waiting carriages. He listened to the crunch of snow under the children's boots, remembering a little wistfully how much he had always liked the sound, and leaving his prints in new fallen snow. He supposed he could do it now, though it wouldn't be quite the same. And he did not wish to call attention to his presence thus. Not to mention that it was taking almost all his energy not to bolt back to the comparative warmth and safety of his dungeon.

But he had promised David he would accompany him home, and to the Potters' home for Christmas day. He wondered how much he would find had changed since his death. Minerva must be... he did some quick arithmetic. At least a hundred, he guessed. Not terribly old by wizarding standards, but he knew she had never really recovered from the multiple curses Umbridge and her inquisitors had struck her with. It had been so difficult, that last year as headmaster, not to coddle the woman openly, to force her to slow down a bit without her catching on. In the end, he had managed it, but only by the expedient of giving most of her work to Amycus Carrow, saying he no longer trusted her to do it properly. He felt a little sorry now, but he reminded himself that _he_ had been the one who had had to endure reading Carrow's barely literate drivel. Still, he could not shake feelings of apprehension at the thought of seeing her again after all this time.

He slowed his pace to allow a knot of student to pass him, hoping for a little quiet in their wake. Instead he heard a familiar voice in his ear. "Sunlight suits you, Professor." It was Rose Weasley.

They were alone, though he could hear voices just past the bend in the road ahead of them. "And you, Miss Weasley," he responded, hoping he did not look as uncomfortable as he felt.

Her next words told him that he did. "It'll be all right, Professor. Are you sure you want to meet everyone on the train? You could put that off a bit, just watch them, until you get comfortable. They're all prats, really. Well, all but Lily."

The ghost gave a sour smile. "Of that I have little doubt, Miss Weasley," he replied. "But I may as well get introductions over with. I am somewhat out of practice in the social niceties."

"You're fine. Better than some with no reasonable excuse," she added darkly, as a group of laughing first years chased each other past them, hurling snowballs back and forth as they went. One snowball sailed directly through Snape's right shoulder. It was an interesting sensation.

"You live near the Potters, I understand?" he asked, pulling his mind back automatically to his years as a spy, when idle conversations gave him power and forewarning. Just now, he felt very much a desire to know the lay of this land.

"Oh yes. Grandma and Grandpa still live in the Burrow where Dad grew up. Uncle Harry built a house just past the gardens, and Mum and Dad built theirs on the other side of the village, near Stoatshead Hill."

Snape nodded, trying to form a picture of the map in his mind.

"And if things get too crazy at Uncle Harry's, you are always welcome to come to our house. I expect our selection of reading materials alone will be more appealing."

Snape chuckled, remembering Madam Weasley nee Granger's childhood love of books. "Your mum was probably the most intelligent child I ever taught. Though if you tell her that, I will deny it to your face."

Rose smiled. "I won't breathe a word," she said, raising her hand solemnly in pledge. They had reached the station. "You ready for this?" she asked softly.

Snape looked dubious. "We shall see."


	2. Chapter 2

No Malicious Haunting 2/?

_Summary: Sequel to __Lost Boys__. When Snape and David visit the Potters for the holidays, they find that the past is neither forgiven nor forgotten. FRT, genfic._

_DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and noprofit is being made. Please sue somebody else._

_A/N: Beta thanks again to sahiya and research-girl for looking at this a very long time ago. All mistakes introduced after the fact, or good advice of theirs not taken, is entirely my own responsibility. _

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David smiled as he saw Rose and the ghost standing together on the platform. He joined them casually, his overt greeting to Rose taking in the Professor as well. "I have a note from the headmaster to be allowed to board first, so we'll grab a compartment. You herd the Potters and your brother and that git of a Malfoy to us, okay?"

"You haven't told them about me yet, have you?" Snape asked.

"Nah. That's still your choice. They still think I got sick because of seeing old battles and stuff. If you're not ready to show yourself after you've seen them, you don't have to. There's plenty of time for that. And never is okay, too."

The conductor came over to them then and said, "I believe our instructions were to let you on first, Mr. Dursley." He glanced briefly at the ghost, but made no other comment.

"Um, yeah," David replied uncertainly.

"Well, follow me, then." He said more quietly. "I can feel your ticket from here, Spirit. Welcome. Your presence honors us."

"Thank you," Snape replied, a little nonplussed.

"Yes, come along Mister Dursley," he said in a loud voice. "Out of the way, there." He pushed through the crowd and soon David and Snape were seated in an empty compartment near the end of the train.

"Would you like something to drink, Mister Dursley?" the conductor asked. "I understand you have been ill."

"Um, yeah, I was. But I'm fine now, thanks."

"He would like a cup of tea," Snape said firmly, and quirking an eyebrow at David when the boy opened his mouth to protest.

The conductor grinned. "Right away, Sir," he said. "And I can see you're cloaked. Not to worry. I'm the only one who can see even your shape, and I will not tell a soul. I'll send someone by with your tea in a moment, young man."

"Thanks," David replied. As soon as the man left them alone he turned to the ghost. "I am _not _ an invalid, you know. Why does everyone keep treating me like one?"

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because you have lately developed the alarming habit of nearly passing out on the stairs? Give yourself time, Boy. Dark Magic takes more than a few weeks to recover from. And in the meantime, let your friends take care of you. It will build your character, if nothing else."

David glared at him, but he could not match the ghost's several decades' more experience at it. He sighed and broke into a tired grin. "Yeah. All right. Thanks."

* * *

David accepted his tea a few minutes later from the cheerful witch pushing the trolley. He sipped at it, feeling better but not willing to admit it aloud. It wasn't long before Rose arrived, and then the other members of their circle of friends and family. Scorpius slouched into the compartment and drawled, "Tell me again, Potter. Why do we have to sit with these wankers?"

Rose answered before Al could draw a breath, patiently, but just as bored, "Because you're going to be a guest in the Potter household, and there are certain facts you need to know before you arrive." She did not so much as glance in Snape's direction.

David added, "Yeah. I wanted to warn you about my Dad's parents. They're going to be there Christmas Day and...." He trailed off, horribly embarrassed.

"And they're gits," James supplied helpfully, with his usual lack of tact. He did have the grace to look chastened when Lily leaned over to smack him on the shoulder rather harder than was necessary.

"Yeah," David sighed. "They're family, but...."

Scorpius was eying him with something akin to understanding. "You can't pick your family. How well I know it."

Al gave his friend a tentative pat on the shoulder, but Scorpius did not seem to notice. David said, "Look, they're Muggles, and they hate everything to do with magic. They always have. They just... tend to say things, sometimes...."

Scorpius nodded. "I shall take no offense at anything my elders say. And I'll promise that what happens on hols stays there. Happy? Can we go?" He addressed this last to Al, who was looking at David thoughtfully. David was looking at a spot by the window, apparently at nothing. And then, he nodded.

"Well, we did have another secret to tell you. One you'll probably find more interesting."

Scorpius looked dubious, but settled back in his seat as if resigned to an extended stay. He was hard pressed, a moment later, to contain his surprise when a severe looking ghost, dressed in old fashioned black teaching robes, was suddenly sitting next to him in the cramped compartment.

David suppressed a grin with some difficulty. He had long suspected his friend had a bit of a flare for the dramatic. "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. Professor Severus Snape, late Potions Master of Hogwarts."

Scorpius recovered quickly. "My father has always spoken well of you, Sir. I'm Scorpius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy's son."

Snape had an unreadable expression on his face. "I might have guessed. I am pleased to meet you, Mister Malfoy."

Al was looking at the ghost in wonder. "My dad's told me about you. You were in Slytherin too. I'm Al. Al Potter."

Snape quirked an eyebrow at the boy. "A Potter sorted into Slytherin? It's a wonder your father did not die of apoplexy." David thought he looked a little pleased at the idea. But Al was shaking his head.

"Actually, he was proud. He said one of the bravest men he ever knew had been Head of that House, and a headmaster of Hogwarts. Besides, we beat the loser Gryffindors for the House Cup last year." He directed this last, with a stuck out tongue for good measure, at the taller boy sitting next to David.

"And we will trounce you so bad this year, you will wish you'd sorted to Hufflepuff," the boy shot back. Then he smiled at the ghost. "James Potter. I believe I've heard you didn't get on so well with my namesake."

"No, I did not get on well with the elder James Potter. But I shall endeavor not to hold it against you, Mister Potter," the ghost replied evenly. He turned his eyes to the boy sitting on Al's other side. "Let me see. Red hair, freckles, marked resemblance to the fair Rose Weasley. You must be her brother. Hugo, I believe?"

The boy's eyes widened in surprise, and then he grinned. "Wicked!"

"Indeed, Mister Weasley," the ghost replied. That left only the quiet girl in the corner of the compartment, by the door. David saw a flicker of sadness in the dark eyes for a moment. "You must be Lily Potter. You favor your father's mother to an astonishing degree."

"Yes, I know," the girl replied quietly. "David's Grandmum says so, too. She showed me pictures, once."

David said, looking at each of his friends in turn, "Well, here's the deal. Professor Snape is a Hogwarts ghost, but he doesn't want to be overrun with old friends, or enemies, for that matter. So, for now, he is our secret. And he is spending the holidays at my house, and coming to the Potters' for Christmas day with me. Don't talk to him unless he talks to you, and then only if nobody else is around."

Scorpius nodded. "A wise choice, Sir. Some of my grandfather's acquaintances would dearly love to have words with you." He took in the shocked looks around him and added, "I won't tell any of them, of course. They're all gits anyway. But, if you ever wanted to talk to my dad, I know he'd be pleased. And honored."

Snape was looking a little overwhelmed again, so David said quickly, "There's plenty of time for him to think about that later. He's been alone in the dungeons a long while, so let's give him some space. Hugo, fancy a game of chess? Got your set? Mine's in my trunk."

Hugo grinned and pulled a battered wizard chess set from his book bag while David hit the switch to cause a tabletop to appear in the space between their seats. Rose pulled a book from her bag, and James, Al and Scorpius moved to the corner and began playing a Muggle card game David remembered teaching them a few years back. Lily just watched everyone with wide intelligent eyes. Snape moved to sit next to her, leaving the boys more room for their somewhat exuberant game.

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"Could your enemies do anything bad to you now? Being a ghost and all?" she asked so quietly Snape barely heard her. He considered a moment.

"I am not sure. Not without exceedingly Dark Magic, I imagine. But of course, most of my enemies were more than adept enough at the Dark Arts. Which house did you sort into, Miss Potter?"

"Ravenclaw," she answered.

"Unusual," he said. "Though of course, it is even more unusual to have a child of the two students who most exemplified Gryffrindor House to sort to Slytherin."

"I think the Sorting Hat has been using some kind of random number algorithm to sort students into houses for at least the past ten years. I did a research project on it in Arithmancy. But when I asked the Sorting Hat about it, it got all huffy and wouldn't talk to me anymore."

Snape gave a quiet laugh at that. "I imagine so. That blasted hat has always had too high an opinion of its own cleverness. My compliments, Miss Potter."

"I didn't get as high marks on it as the paper deserved, though. Because there are just enough 'typical' students in each house to justify believing there's a set 'House type' in each year. Even though many of them seem to more conform to that type after the sorting than before. And how many 11 year olds have their basic personalities completely set in stone to begin with?"

"They live up, or down to the expectations around them," Snape agreed, looking at her in surprise. "Though I must say, that bit of reasoning is certainly worthy of your own house, Miss Potter."

She smiled a little. "Yes, but I have an Aunt who sorted into Gryffindor who was, according to everyone who knew her then, the brightest witch of her age. Why did she not sort to Ravenclaw?"

"I often wondered that, at the time. Certainly, her earliest days at school would have been more comfortable if she had-- her fellow Gryffindors resented her terribly. I suspect Albus had something to do with that," he added darkly. "It would have been just like him, to stack the deck in Potter's favor, to make sure he had at hand the people he most needed to help him defeat the Dark Lord."

Al glanced up from his game at that. "Albus Dumbledore? Yeah. I'm named for him, you know. For both of you. Two best headmasters Hogwarts ever had. My dad says so."

Snape blinked at him in surprise. "What?"

"Oh, sorry. Everyone calls me Al. Because Albus Severus is kind of a mouthful."

"And because after I hexed Jimmy McLaughlin's ears into donkey ones and it took Madam Bright a week to undo it, nobody wanted to take the chance I might think they were teasing Al about his name," Scorpius added in a bored voice, studying his cards carefully and laying one down.

Snape continued to stare. Lily asked him quietly, "What's wrong, Professor Snape?"

"I shall kill your father when next I see him. He named his son after me?"

"I hope you don't kill him, Sir. We're rather fond of him," Lily remonstrated mildly.

"Besides," Rose offered, not looking up from her book, "I believe I read somewhere that ghosts were forbidden to engage in malicious haunting. I imagine murder might be considered malicious, at least by the more unimaginative representatives of the Ministry. I'll teach you the ears hex, though, if you like."

Snape glared at her gratefully, his equilibrium restored. "I believe I am quite capable of performing that hex, Miss Weasley, even in my present state."

Hugo looked up from his chess game to grin broadly, looking very much like his father in that moment, if only he had known it. "Wicked. Just make sure you wait to do it when I'm around. That I would dearly love to see."

"I thought you liked Uncle Harry," David said, making his move.

"Oh, I do. But donkey ears? That would be brilliant."

Lily sighed. "You are really a terrible influence on youth," she observed wryly. "And they made you a teacher?"

Snape glared at her, too. "Your father hated me all the time we knew one another, and yet...."

The girl was shaking her head. "Dad told me once that he never really knew you. And that he's always regretted it. He named Al for you because he got sick of people saying terrible things about you. It shut them up, he said, when Harry Potter named his son after Severus Snape. And," she leaned closer, "I am unsure what alterations Dad could make to you in your ghost state, but you should be aware that he knows that hex, too."

Snape heaved a martyr's sigh, but his eyes glinted with amusement. "Thank you for the warning, Miss Potter. I will certainly keep that in mind." Then they both turned their attention to the chess game, where Snape's whispered hints to David helped him manage, just barely, to best Hugo, aided by Lily.

"Here," David said, rising. "Swap places with me, Professor. Maybe you and Lily should play the next game. I'm going to take a nap."


	3. Chapter 3

No Malicious Haunting 3/?

_Summary: Sequel to __Lost Boys__. When Snape and David visit the Potters for the holidays, they find that the past is neither forgiven nor forgotten. FRT, genfic._

_DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else._

_A/N: Beta thanks to Betina and Whitehound, who looked at this a long while back and made me take a long look at what I was up to— so long that it's taken until now to finish the rewrite. Thanks to them again for being willing to look at it again so much later. This repost contains some additional edits suggested after I had put up the previous version. All remaining mistakes are, of course, my own._

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They arrived at King's Cross Station an hour later, waiting until most people were off the train before attempting to brave the crowded platform themselves. Snape stayed close to David, but he was pleased to recognize Scorpius' father in the crowd. It was even more pleasing to reflect that Draco had, against all odds, managed to survive, after everything.

He watched as Draco hugged his son, then bent his head down, listening to Scorpius telling him something. He saw a faint grin tugging at the older man's lips. Snape had made it a point to read up on the years he had missed, taking particular interest in old students, friends, and of course, enemies. He knew Draco's life after the war had been hard, but seeing him now with his son, Snape felt a sense of— he wasn't sure what. Satisfaction, perhaps. The sting of his own sufferings was still there, but here was a reminder of why he'd done everything he had. It had been worth it.

He caught sight of another figure then, standing behind Draco, pale and carrying himself with an unmistakable detachment and superiority. Lucius Malfoy. He was now an old man, leaning heavily on his silver serpent-headed cane. If he noticed the hostile glares from others in the crowd, he gave no sign of it. He scanned the crowd lazily, but Snape knew the expression was as deceptive as everything else about his old friend. He was at his most dangerous like this, Snape remembered, coiled and ready to strike without warning at need. A chill went through the ghost as the watery grey eyes came to rest, just for a moment, on him. Surely a coincidence, he told himself, as the eyes moved past him to rest on the man approaching and pulling David into a bear's hug embrace. Snape turned with relief to watch David with his dad.

So this was Dudley Dursley, tall and beefy like his father, but with an expression of open love and pride in his wizard son Snape could not imagine on Vernon Dursley's face. He wondered what had wrought such a change in the sullen, spoiled child Potter had grown up with.

The man was releasing David now, saying, "You mum and sister decided to stay home and do a bit of shopping, avoid the crowds here. Where's ah…" he was looking around, probably for him, Snape thought. He glanced back to where he had seen the Malfoys, but they had disappeared into the crowd.

Rose came up, pushing a trolley. She said quickly, "Here's your trunk, Davey. Hello, Mister Dursley."

"Thanks, Rosie," David said. "We better, um, get going, okay Dad?"

Dudley seemed to take the hint, then. He cleared his throat and said, "Ah, of course. Well, we'll see you in a few days, Rose." He did what Snape thought was a very admirable job of pretending to ignore his son's brief whispered conversation with Rose, and the chaste kiss that ended it. A few moments later, he was following father and son out into the crisp late afternoon sunlight.

Once they were settled in the car, Dudley said quietly, and a little nervously, "So, David, you told me you had a friend coming home with you. A... er, a ghost? Where is he, then?"

David glanced toward the back seat. "He's here. But I told him he might want to stay hidden in the station, and here. Didn't want to startle you or anything."

David's father grinned and relaxed a little. "Good thinking, Davey. I'm really glad you're coming home."

"Me too. Um, have you told mum? And Ellie?"

"Harry said we might want to leave it to your friend. He doesn't even have to appear to me if he doesn't want to. I just want him to know, I'm grateful for what he did for you. And that he's welcome in our home."

"Thanks, Dad." In the back seat, Snape was hard pressed to conceal his emotions, already raw from the many upheavals the day had held for him. This father was so unlike his own. In fact, he was quite unlike what Snape would have predicted, having seen Potter's memories of their childhood together. He was glad, though, that David had such a father. He couldn't think of a child who deserved it more.

As they pulled into the drive, Snape saw the boy looking back at him. "You look like you've had just about enough socializing for one day," David observed, grinning unrepentantly at the scowl Snape shot him in response. "If you want to hide out in my room for a while, I packed some books for you, and a couple of those Potions Journals you were reading. They're in my trunk."

Snape was, in truth, quite happy to retreat to David's room. The affectionate greeting the boy's father had given him was nothing in comparison to the effusive and loud greetings he got from his mum and sister. It pleased him, but it overloaded his ghostly senses, so long used to silence and dark. When David escorted him to his room with his trunk and left him alone with a quick wink and grin, Snape felt that, had he been a living man, he would have breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief.

It was more than just the emotions and noise. More even than the openness of the sky and the alarming noise and speed of Muggle automobiles. He had grown up in the Muggle world, at least part way, but everywhere he looked, things were unfamiliar. Intellectually, he knew that he had been living apart from the Muggle world for nearly two decades before his death, and another two had passed since then. But it was still distressing and disorienting in a way he could not possibly have prepared for or imagined.

But a couple of hours of reading relaxed him enough that he was able to drift a bit, not in his old manner at Hogwarts, but more akin to a light, restful sleep. When David slipped quietly through his door to check on him, he snapped instantly alert and felt much, much better for it.

"How are you doing, Professor?" David asked quietly as the door snicked closed behind him. He flopped down on the bed next to where the ghost had been drifting beside and somewhat above the covers. "And, can I just say how brilliant it is, to be saying that to someone else, instead of them saying it to me? That was getting really old."

Snape smiled. "No doubt."

David waited, but when an answer to his question did not seem forthcoming, he raised his eyebrows and looked expectantly at his friend. "And...," he prompted.

"And I have not yet determined, Mister Dursley. I will be sure to let you know."

David sat up and began fiddling nervously with his shoelaces. Snape watched him for a minute, then said, "What is troubling you, Boy?"

"My grandparents are coming over tonight for dinner. I didn't know until just now."

"And you would prefer not to see them?"

"I feel kinda guilty about it. They're a little odd, but they were always nice to me. Until my dad told them I was Magic. They hate Magic. They've never really got over it. They treat me like I have a disease or something, or like I'm dangerous, or mental."

"They would be your father's parents, I take it?" David nodded. Snape continued to look thoughtful but did not say anything else.

After a moment, David said, "I guess this wouldn't be the best night to introduce you to Mum and Ellie, but I'll leave it up to you."

Snape shook his head. "I don't want to make things any worse for you tonight. I'll come down, but I'll stay out of sight. But if you need any help..."

David laughed. "Just don't do that ear hex thing."

Snape sniffed. "All right. If you insist."

Snape kept to the shadows of the dining room during the meal and studied the members of his young friend's family. Vernon and Petunia were, like Lucius Malfoy had been earlier, visible reminders to him of how much time had passed since his own death. But though they were much older than the memories of them he held from those long ago Occlumency lessons with Potter, he had other memories from the Mirror. Those lessened the shock of change a bit. David's mother was a lovely, gracious woman, and her husband often looked at her with no small measure of stunned amazement, as if even after nearly twenty years of marriage, he could hardly believe his good fortune. David's sister teased her big brother unmercifully, and soon they were bickering amiably. Vernon seemed to concentrate most of his attention on his plate, which fact perhaps explained his impressive girth. And Petunia...

There was something odd about her. She began as merely uncomfortable when he came down in David's wake. She hugged the boy quickly, telling him she was so glad he had recovered from his illness at school. The affection seemed genuine, if a little nervous. But as he continued to hover near David, she grew increasingly jumpy, and once or twice she turned her head quickly towards him, as if reacting to something half glimpsed out of the corner of her eye.

It was worse after dinner. Petunia sat in a chair in the living room, chatting with Ellie about her school activities, but her attention kept wandering. Snape caught David's eye and drifted over to whisper, "Is Petunia always like this?"

David waited until no one was looking his way before shaking his head. He went over to sit by his grandmother and sister and join in their conversation while Snape remained on the far side of the room, near the sideboard, where Dudley was pouring his father an after supper brandy. Petunia seemed more relaxed then as she asked David about school, and if her lip wrinkled a little at some of it, she did seem to be trying to overcome her aversion to magic, at least for his sake. A few times, though, when she thought no one was looking, a terribly sad expression swept across her face as she looked at her grandson.

Up in David's room after Vernon and Petunia had departed, Snape asked, "What was the matter with your grandmother tonight? She seemed very distracted."

David shook his head, buttoning up his pyjamas. "No idea. She's usually a little twitchy, but nothing like that. Maybe they told her too much about how sick I was or something."

"Perhaps." But Snape could not shake the feeling that, at least once, she had looked straight at him. And that she had recognized him.


	4. Chapter 4

No Malicious Haunting 4/?

_Summary: Sequel to __Lost Boys__. When Snape and David visit the Potters for the holidays, they find that the past is neither forgiven nor forgotten. FRT, genfic._

_DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else._

_A/N: Beta thanks again to Betina and Whitehound. All mistakes are, of course, my own._ _ Also, "Boys ardent for some desperate glory" is a line from Wilfred Owens' well-known anti-war poem, "Dulce et Decorum Est." The title comes from a famous Latin saying, which translates, "It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country." I think it's appropriate to use it, as the young soldiers caught up in the Wizarding war were probably not unlike their counterparts in World War I in both their innocence and their feelings of betrayal when they found out what war was really like._

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* * *

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Snape spent the next few days dividing his time between resting in David's room and observing his young friend's daily life- watching him meeting Muggle friends, playing a game of scratch football on an unseasonably warm day, or playing something called a "computer game" with his dad. When things became overwhelming, he retreated again to David's room to read, or to drift. He was pleased that David woke only once with nightmares, and that a short talk soothed him back to sleep. And he was astonished by the easy acceptance David's mum and sister gave him. Eventually.

"Are you the one who made Davey sick, then?" his sister demanded protectively when he first revealed himself.

"No," David said, as Snape gave her a frosty look which did not seem to daunt the girl in the least. "He's the one who helped me get well."

David's mother smiled at Snape, and he felt oddly embarrassed. "Harry told us what you did, and we're grateful to you. You're welcome here anytime, Professor."

"Thank you."

* * *

Christmas Day dawned bright and clear and very cold. Snape was staring out the window, oddly finding himself missing the snow which always fell this time of year at Hogwarts. He heard a stirring behind him and David said, with an audible yawn, "Hey."

Snape turned. "Good morning, Boy. Happy Christmas."

There was a package at the foot of the bed, and David reached for it eagerly. Snape suppressed a smile at the impetuosity of youth. "Slytherin green," the boy noted, looking at the wrapping paper, with its silver ribbon. "Might this be from you, Sir?"

Snape shrugged noncommittally. But David was already tearing open the wrapping, then grinning as he caught sight of the title. "Wow, where'd you lay your hands on this, Sir?" It was a Quidditch tactics book, one of the few focused on the Keeper position, well worn.

"I asked your Uncle to retrieve it from wherever my possessions were dispersed to, after my untimely death," the ghost replied.

"That'd be from his library then, wouldn't it?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "I never thought, when I made out that will, that I'd have to ask Potter for one of my own books back."

"Then thanks doubly," David replied. He didn't say more, but Snape knew the boy's gift allowed him to pick up on the ghost's still terribly conflicted feelings about one Harry James Potter. Instead the boy said, "I have something for you as well."

Snape was a little nonplussed at that. Though he had given his gift to David no small amount of thought, it had honestly never occurred to him that the boy would wish to reciprocate in any way. But he was up and pulling on his dressing gown, then rummaging through his trunk, and before Snape could formulate a suitable reply, he found a gold foil-wrapped package, somewhat worse for wear, thrust into his ghostly hands.

Snape pulled on one end of the frayed red ribbon, then slit the wrapping open somewhat awkwardly with his thumbnail. Inside was a small album. When he opened it, he found -

"Where did you get these?" the ghost rasped, as he flipped through the collection of wizarding and still photographs. Some were of Lily, achingly lovely as a child and later as the young woman he remembered. Others were of his godson Draco, his old friends and colleagues, and David. There were even a few of himself as a student, with friends. Oh yes. Severus Snape had had friends at school. Not very good friends for the most part, as he himself would have been the first to admit. Friends like him, so blinded by ambition or need that they bought into the Darkness body and soul. Friends who had so disgusted Lily that, in the end, very little had been needed to drive that final wedge between them.

He paused to look at a picture of himself with Lucius. Both in student robes, Lucius with his prefect's badge gleaming on his chest, so graciously posing with the ungainly awkward second year who had brought honor to Slytherin house by orchestrating an elaborate and somewhat cruel prank on the Golden Boys of Gryffindor. That was what the smiles were for, anyway, though the ostensible reason for the photograph, according to its caption, was for their chess team's victory in the House Tournament that year. The prank had _involved_ chess, so it was appropriate, Snape thought. He looked at those boys. So young. Even Lucius had been mostly innocent, back then. Already destined to take the Dark Mark, already preaching the gospel of Racial Purity to "boys ardent for some desperate glory." But Malfoy had really believed in the cause at the time. And even then, he didn't go in for cruelty for its own sake.

"Too wasteful," Lucius had explained to him once. "Never let your emotions blind you to your true goals."

Snape turned the page and saw another wizarding photograph, of himself as a first year teacher, already dour and angry, barely tolerating the friendly arm around his shoulder. Albus Dumbledore, of course. Smiling as if almost in spite of the reluctant young man at his side who was trying to pull away and out of the frame. The older man's image seemed to look out from the page directly into his own startled eyes. A sad expression came to his face then, and he seemed to age more than the decade and a half between when that picture had been taken and when... Snape had killed him. It did not speak- it could not, of course, but it seemed to be reaching out to him somehow. Imploring him. _"Severus, please..."_

Snape closed the book and glanced up at the boy, who was gazing at him in honest concern. "Er... are you all right, Professor?"

Snape forced himself to relax, then to smile at his young friend. "Of course. I am quite touched, David. This has brought back... more memories I had thought lost. Things I had put out of my mind long before I died. I am just a bit... overwhelmed to have them back all at once. But thank you, Boy."

David gave a small smile, seeming relieved, but a little embarrassed at the praise. To cover it, he said, "We'd better start getting ready. Today's the big day, you know. We'll be spending Christmas at Uncle Harry's."

Snape sighed. "Yes. How could I forget?"

* * *

David let Snape stay up in his room until the last possible moment, knowing the chaos of the rest of the household on Christmas morning would be more than the ghost's frayed nerves could take. But at last all gifts had been packed into the special trunk Uncle Harry had provided, both as a means of transporting presents and the dishes Lisa Dursley had been delegated to prepare, and as a means of conveying the Muggle family to the remote village of Ottery St. Catchpole. The trunk was a timed Portkey, and they were coming up on 5 minutes to 1:00, when it would take itself, and whoever was touching it at the time, to the Potter residence.

David peeked his head around the door. "Professor? Ready to go?"

Snape wrinkled his lip. "I don't suppose I could plead illness? Indisposition?"

"Not a chance."

Snape was already preceding the boy out of his room and down the stairs. "But how do we know this portkey will take me along as well? And..." He added with a dangerous glare back at his young friend as they arrived in the living room, "... if you suggest I have to put myself _inside_ that monstrosity, I will hex you six ways from Sunday. You have my word on that, Mister Dusley."

David grinned. Snape always reverted to his most formal when he was most rattled. David had long since learned to pay the tone no mind at all. "Just as long as you lay off the ears," he shot back good-naturedly. Then, taking pity on his friend, he revealed, a trifle mischievously, "Uncle Harry said he would be by with a special Portkey for you. Didn't I mention that?"

Snape's glare turned truly murderous then, but before he could reply, a sudden crack reverberated in the room, and Uncle Harry was smiling at them.

"Professor Snape, Davey. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Snape glared at the man, on general principle, David supposed. "Not at all," Snape replied, carefully schooling his features into that bland impassivity David knew he had perfected years before.

David's father stepped into the living room, calling back over his shoulder, "Ellie, Lisa! Come along! You'll be late!"

"Hello Dudley," Uncle Harry said. "And don't worry. I can reset the Portkey easily enough."

"Yes, but you know women. Takes them forever..."

At this point, Ellie burst through the door and nearly knocked her dad into a heap. Only Uncle Harry's quick intervention prevented disaster. The girl's mother followed, more sedately.

"I swear, Ellie, when will you learn to comport yourself with a little dignity?" David's mum sighed, but there was an amused twinkle in her eye. David smiled a little at that too - it was an old joke. Then he noticed how the ghost was edging away from them, his expression unsettled, a little dazed.

He moved to stand by the ghost and whispered, "It's all right, Professor. They do this every year."

Snape nodded and made a visible effort to relax. David knew little of Snape's upbringing, but he had gathered, from what little his friend had said, and from his own flashes of insight and dreams, that in Snape's experience loud and boisterous did not equal safety or harmonious family life. David wished he knew what to do to help, but really, other than be there if his friend needed his reassurance or presence, there was little he could do. But boy, he thought, if he was having trouble now, wait until he got to the Potter household.

Before he could reflect more on it, Uncle Harry was speaking. "Davey, after we get everyone settled at my house, would you like to come with me to fetch your Grandpa Vernon and Grandma Petunia?"

David nodded, though he was not terribly keen on it, not just because his Grandpa was barely civil to any of them and Grandma was so very nervous, but also because it meant Professor Snape would have to fend for himself alone for a bit.

As if in answer to the look, Uncle Harry said, "Rose is already there- I'm sure she can keep the professor company for a few minutes until we return."

David grinned and gave his friend a sidelong glance. "More likely, she'll put you to work and boss you to death - well, er, maybe not. I mean…."

Snape smiled sourly, but his equilibrium seemed restored. "No doubt, Mister Dursley," he replied. "Shall we be on our way, then?"

* * *

By the time David got back to the Potters with his grandparents in tow, he saw that Professor Snape was indeed engaged in a rather animated discussion with Lily and Rose - engaged meaning, he was listening intently and only getting a word in edgewise every few minutes. Even then, David was fairly sure no one watching would have suspected the ghost's presence. He took his grandparents into the sitting room they preferred for its quiet and its relative lack of wizarding accessories, got them settled with soothing cups of tea and made his way back to Snape.

Snape looked up at his approach and asked, "Why on earth do they travel by Floo? It seems a bit athletic, for people of their age and ... temperament."

David shrugged and said, "Uncle Harry has them travel by Floo mostly _because_ they hate it so much. He says it really is the safest way for Muggles to travel with a wizard and all, but I'm sure if he tried he could come up with something a little less dramatic." As he said it, David was aware that Uncle Harry's childhood in his grandparents' home had been unhappy, and he could see Snape knew it too, as the ghost allowed a brief, satisfied smirk to flit across his features.

Just then, James, Hugo, Al and Scorpius bounded in. "Come on, Davey, you have to come out, we need a Keeper..."

"No," Madam Weasley's voice rang out, silencing the din. "What part of _No Quidditch until after the holidays_ did you boys not understand? David _cannot_ play Quidditch. Find another game."

David said quickly, before the chorus of protests could begin, "What about Muggle football? Then Ellie could play, too. I hear you're getting pretty good," he added, smiling at his little sister.

David glanced over at Snape. "Want to come watch?" he asked quietly, as Ellie launched into a loud and somewhat hard to follow explanation of the rules of football for the wizarding children who had never played.

Snape shook his head. "Thank you, David. I am sure I shall be quite all right in here. Go be with your cousins." As David trooped out, he glanced back and saw Snape sink into the shadows at the edge of the living room, watching as the other guests began to arrive. Ah well. He had once been a spy. David was fairly sure he would be content to lurk, and that Uncle Harry could direct him to a quieter space if he were not. He pulled his heavy coat from the trunk Portkey still in the back hallway and shrugged into it, then raced to catch up with his friends.


End file.
